


the new worst low of my life

by GStK



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: velvet rope, velvet rope.
Relationships: Tartaglia | Childe/Zhongli (Genshin Impact)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	the new worst low of my life

childe discards the concept of _hero_.

childe baffles the idea of being mortal at all.

zhongli begins somewhere in the middle. there is a morning he wakes up sprawled upon his desk, scrolls unraveling down the sides, his mother looming over him.

the disapproval is always there. the queen’s expression says, in the lines on her face: _this nonsense will get you no closer to the god_.

when the queen’s mouth parts, the words depart from an unfamiliar tower, not the island they have become used to circumnavigating: “get yourself decent and come to the main hall.” then she leaves as soon as she has arrived, her large shoulders encompassed by her velvet cape. the two guards accompanying her swiftly depart.

zhongli draws himself up on his hands and rakes his bangs out of his eyes. it is most unusual for his mother to visit him directly. nonetheless, the urgency is ever-present across the length of his spine.

he dresses for a funeral and leaves to greet the calamity.

* * *

one thousand enemies felled with a bow. in one day. on one battlefield.

there’s no light to his eyes. he keeps his head bowed for as long as the queen is present. when he is presented to zhongli like a gift on a platter, he meets his gaze like the unblinking stare of a deer knowing death approaches.

yet when the platoon of soldiers leave their sides, a smile breaks his solemn countenance, and childe becomes… ethereal.

zhongli drops his eyes further, spotting the disused sword at the knight’s side.

“you can call me childe,” he’s saying, introducing himself after the fact. the queen has already elevated him with titles and stations. soon, he’ll be outfitted in the pearliest armour available to any bodyguard. “pleasure to meet you, prince. mind if i call you zhongli?”

he shakes his head, feeling thoughts rattle around like a fairy in a bottle. there’s a tattered red mantle wrapped around childe’s neck. it ends in scars and flows like water. the rest of him is grey, unimpressively grey.

where is the knight zhongli is supposed to feel a destined bond to?

“i hear you like studying,” childe says lightly. zhongli meets his eyes again. they’re the blue of a dead sea on a dead planet in a dead galaxy. “hey. no need to be nervous, your highness. just pretend i’m not even here.”

it feels like it would be easy. childe feels like he could slip back into a crowd and wear it like a second skin. but some part of zhongli doesn’t want to turn his back on him. the hairs at the back on his neck stand up at the thought.

“not much of a talker,” hazards childe. zhongli turns away from him, half-aborted, facing in the direction of the courtyard. he extends his neck like an invitation. “you’re supposed to go first, you know.”

yet childe parades forward, happy to offer zhongli his back. zhongli follows after the fact.

the quiver worn behind the sheaf of childe’s orange hair glows blue at the fletching of each arrow.

* * *

zhongli has lived his entire life running on limited time.

the calamity is coming. his mother has spent the entirety of her reign on the throne gathering soldiers, resurrecting dead artefacts from ages past to secure their safety. the villagers grumble about food levies, but none of them could say they feel unsafe.

not like zhongli. he feels unsafe when his mother looks at him. he feels unsafe whenever he’s in a room alone with childe.

four guardians. four machines at their beck and call. ningguang in the southeast rules the deserts with a black-clad fist. bennett promises nothing but smiles at the peak of death mountain.

everyone is settled into their roles. everyone knows what to do. everyone except for zhongli.

it’s two moons from his twentieth birthday and the god still won’t speak to him. childe offers his shoulder a consoling pat when zhongli crawls his way out of the spring. he does not hate to be seen this way, wet from head to toe, on his hands and knees, hair draping over him like a shadow. he looks as incapable as he feels on the inside.

“don’t worry about it,” childe is saying somewhere far away. “there’s still time. it’s not your fault, your highness.”

“it is,” zhongli croaks. he is unsure if his voice rattles with disuse or fatigue. it’s been more than a year since he last spoke to anyone. he breaks his fast with the most dangerous man in the world.

childe’s brows rise. then he makes an ungainly noise when zhongli’s arms give out from under him. he gathers the prince into his lap, sighing in this awkward way, crossing his legs and turning zhongli’s cheek against the soft part of his thigh.

“you’ve done so much,” soothes childe. zhongli’s eyesight blurs while water runs from his forehead into his eyes. beneath the agony of the god’s silence, his mind runs sluggishly through what he knows. what he knows of the world: little. what he knows of childe: even less.

“do you even... know what i’m doing?”

hand stilling in his hair, childe answers quietly: “you’re seeking morax’s blessing for the fight against the oncoming calamity. right?”

zhongli’s eyes fall shut. “he has yet to fulfil the contract.”

where did childe come from? he’s some sort of prodigy. he’s unparalleled with knives in his hands. he shirks the idea of a shield.

where did he come from?

“prince. zhongli,” childe says. zhongli opens his eyes for him. “there’s still time. and if he doesn’t, who cares? you’ve been researching the ancient technology. we wouldn’t have all these towers if it wasn’t for you.”

zhongli doesn’t answer. he places his hand in the space between them and rises up.

he looks down and finds childe’s ghostly eyes.

“your highness?”

zhongli kisses him. the fountain rings hollow with the sound of him dripping water everywhere.

childe pulls back, brows pushing toward the top of his head. zhongli trips over his tongue to make an apology.

childe just laughs. wraps him up in his arms.

“ _th_ _is_ is how you kiss, your highness.”

* * *

“why do you have red hair?”

childe’s pushing his fingers beneath zhongli’s gloves, holding his hands. “because.”

zhongli swallows past the nerves with inane questions. he looks at the ceiling of his bedroom. it is as grey as ever. “i have read that only the gerudo have red hair.”

“and?”

“only one boy is born to the gerudo every one hundred years. thus…”

childe catches his mouth in a kiss, cutting him off. he laughs somewhere deep in his chest. he pulls at zhongli’s buckle, releasing him from his trousers. “don’t believe everything you read in a book.”

“the tomes in the royal library are of the highest authority,” zhongli bites, offended.

“okay, okay. it was a joke.” childe shimmies out of his own underclothes and just like that, suddenly, they’re doing this. he has something viscous between his fingers and zhongli grows taut. “relax.”

“i don’t understand,” he tells the ceiling. it feels like the motto to his life. _i don’t understand why i’ve been chosen. i don’t understand why the calamity is coming. i don’t understand who you are. i don’t even understand myself_.

“don’t worry about that,” childe says. he has a sandy undertone to his voice that draws zhongli back in to the circle of their grinding hips. “just be with me here and now, your highness. just here. just with me.”

“with you?” he echoes back on the cliff of a breath.

childe catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “that’s right. give it up, your highness. in this arena, i’m undefeated.”

several hours later, childe’s every breath tickling his sweaty collarbones, zhongli can agree.

childe is unparalleled and undefeated.

* * *

“i don’t understand.”

four guardians, trapped by their own wicked machines.

the blue hyrule sky has been broken open by crimson malice.

the technology they harvested for so long has turned against them.

zhongli stares, uncomprehending, at the darkness jumping from stone to stone inside of the castle.

and in the middle of it all stands childe. he’s covered in the queen’s blood; the queensguards’, too. their bodies are piled up to the left, like a servant survived and tried to make the court room neat one last time.

childe regards him at the end of his never-used blade. the iron is, in places, rusted. he holds it like an extension of his arm and then tosses it away, brushing his hands off. the gesture morphs into a clap. applause. applauding zhongli for--

for his foolishness.

it is the eve of his twentieth birthday and he has failed to curry the god’s favour.

he has failed and he has killed his mother.

he has taken the beast to his bed and let himself be led, blind, into the tragic conclusion.

“your highness,” childe begins. “that was quite a show! i didn’t think you would let me stick around for this long. if there were a holy bone in your body, you wouldn’t have ever trusted me.” he pulls his bow off his back, and with a thrust, it snaps in two, turning into his beloved knives. “thanks, i guess.”

“childe…”

“you can call me the calamity if you want. i don’t mind.” he shakes his head in frustration and points. “what i _do_ mind is that you’re unarmed. what are you going to do? pray at me?”

zhongli stands there, still stupefied. he barely catches the spear that childe throws him. it’s slick with blood. it came from one of the queensguard. he stares down at it, then back up at childe.

“don’t you plan to fight me at all?” he accuses, the first growl of irritation running through his voice.

_i don’t understand. i cared for you. i thought we were more than this. i thought you were less than what you are._

_in the end, the only thing i have is my own foolishness_.

“your highness, don’t let your mother’s death be in vain!” childe calls, trying to drum up in him the spirit to battle. he doesn’t sound much different from a sergeant coaching his new recruit. zhongli frantically runs through the classes he had with spears -- years ago, now, abandoned when his mother came to know the prophecy.

“childe.”

heat rocks through the air. the malice pulses against his skin like an eternal kiss.

malice and foolishness. what a pair.

“are you ready for me, prince? don’t make me go easy on you now,” childe taunts.

he remembers the whispers of desire left upon him and something in him breaks.

the spear roils and burns bright with white light. through the blaze, zhongli can spot childe wearing an enthusiastic grin.

“that’s more like it.”

and he, too, breaks. he becomes something more and less. calamity. monster. his blue eyes are lost behind a mask of hatred. violet and crimson wrap him up. lightning dances across him. he is an eternal lust for power.

“i could have loved you,” zhongli says, an empty promise. he throws the holy spear against the back of his wrist and draws it into his right hand.

“you always say that,” childe laughs behind a vocal sea of locusts. “are you ready?”

zhongli draws himself up.

“say your prayers, sweet prince.”

“ _i will have order_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from the song "Kilmer" by Niru Kajitsu.


End file.
